


life in winter

by traashtoon



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Gore, M/M, Major Character Injury, Plotty, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Violence, ended before the end, hopefully, i saved you the pain of that, it is not described, or perhaps before, romance to come at the end, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7705624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traashtoon/pseuds/traashtoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dempsey is afraid of living, and Richtofen is afraid of dying - it was all just a matter of teaching Edward to live without fear, all the while teaching himself what it means to live.</p><p>// discontinued //</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fandom just doesn't have enough plot does it?  
> entirely too much nsfw.  
> not that i'm complaining.

_ Where am I? _

_ How did I get here? _

_ It’s so cold… _

 

Tank awoke gasping for breath. How long had he been out? Had he slept the whole night? ...What had he dreamt about? All he could remember was feeling cold and being unable to move. He took a look around the room to reassure himself that this was real, that he was okay, that it was just a dream. He sighed, and noticed the feeling of someone staring at him prickling the side of his face. Dempsey turned to find Richtofen looking at him oddly. “What?” Tank asked. “Nothing, Dempsey. You were thrashing in your sleep, is all,” was the answer given.

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. 

 

Around a fire, the four members of what may be the last remnants of civilized humanity shared a light conversation. The blaze was the only light of the surrounding forest, which allowed for the night sky - devoid of all light pollution - to be seen as clear as day. Nikolai pushed in a few jokes, they laughed. Peaceful. That wasn’t something they felt often - adrenaline usually made sure of that. That night, Tank fell asleep with a smile on his face. That was something that had not happened in quite awhile. In lieu of all that had happened, Dempsey was glad there were still times like those to bring joy - momentary, fleeting joy - to them. 

 

By the time everyone had fallen asleep, Tank had fallen victim to another fitful rest. Dreaming this time of the same - trees and snow.

 

_I don’t know where I am._ Upon attempting to move, he found that he could. Barely, but yes. Slowly, one leg at a time, progress was being made. Towards towering pine trees, towards more snow, towards the dark grey abyss ahead of him? _What am I doing here?_ Alone with his thoughts, he asked questions to which no answered presented themselves.. _Where_ is _here?_ All around him was a white flurry of snowflakes, and farther out, an abyss of nothing. He could see only a few meters ahead of him, but any further was a seemingly solid mass of shadow. The only light seemed to be a clearing in the treetop. Tank held his hand out in front of him, and was rewarded with the rough surface that was bark. He stayed stock still for what seemed like forever, the only movement being the constant shivering his muscles were doing. _Dempsey… Dempsey.._ He heard his name echoing around him. **_Dempsey!_**

 

Tank awoke with a gasp, feeling that his shoulders were being gripped. Upon seeing Richtofen’s face a mere foot away from his, he scrambled back - but the wall greeted him harshly.

 

“The fuck’re you wakin’ me for, kraut?” he asked, his voice ragged. He needed water. Edward regarded him with an odd expression. “You were thrashing again, Dempsey. You hit Takeo,” both the doctor and the marine turned their eyes to the surly man, who seemed to be favoring his left leg. “Oh.. Er, sorry, Tak.” When he nodded his solemn acceptance of the apology, Tank sighed, and tried to recall his dream. He seemed only to remember an unpleasant feeling of hopelessness and, again, the frigid air.

 

As the four began their trek down to where they knew hordes of undead would be waiting, From his peripheral vision, Tank noticed Edward hesitate. Angrily, he told the German to get moving, and the day began. 

 

Trying to be brave was difficult. Trying to pretend that he wanted to keep fighting, to  _ live _ in such a horrid, corrupt world - it took all he had. It took every ounce of courage, every little reminder that dying would be selfish to keep him going, to keep him on his feet. The team needed him alive - hell, who knows what else was depending on his survival? All he knew was that his survival was purely for the sake of others - he could care much less if he died or lived. His wretched existence was based solely on others’ dependence on him - a strange thought to be having, but true nonetheless.

 

At night, while on watch duty, Tank would often find himself having such melancholic thoughts, only to be too disturbed by them, and force himself to think of something -  _ anything _ \- other than that. But then, in the midst of battle, he found that it had become nearly impossible to fight off the zombies  _ and  _ his own mind - so he didn’t. He allowed his brain to roam freely, he allowed it to rot his hope. 

 

_ What happens when they don’t need you anymore? When they realize just how useless you actually are? Then there’s no point in carrying on anymore. They won’t need you. _

 

It scared him to hear himself thinking like that. Tank began to resent and fear his own brain. He ignored it - to the best of his abilities, at least. Yet, he could not ignore the steadily growing impact his dreams were having on him. They started small, yes - like a stroll in the woods. Then, suddenly, they began to grow worse. Slowly, he began to fear he was losing his mind. Dempsey, American hero, the unbeatable tank, was losing the ongoing battle with himself.

 

Nightfall came with the semi-isolation of him his comrades, who typically would sleep all huddled together, but as Tank was now known to the other three for moving around a lot in his sleep, the man would often volunteer for watches, or sleep where he knew the others were safe from his sleep struggles, even if he wasn’t. 

 

While the American began to doze off, he didn’t notice the look a pair of green eyes were giving him.

 

Edward couldn’t figure the man out, though he has tried. Every time he begins thinking that he had Dempsey even a little figured out, he would go and change it up on the German. One day, he would be helpful, almost kind, even - and another, he would be the brutish marine Edward knew and - though it pained him to say - loved. That had been a discovery that Richtofen had found startling, it had not occurred to him in the beginning that love was possible in such a desolate world - but it was better to have lived and loved than to be dead and not have loved at all. The thought had him nauseous. Death - such a beautiful thing. He had been a part of the cause of so much of it - yet the German feared it with every fiber of his being. Perhaps it made him cowardly, perhaps it was just his nature. All Edward knew was that there was a very impending storm on the horizon, a very, very black cloud that he did not want to face. Something was going to happen, and he wasn’t sure he would be brave enough to face it.


	2. a light in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”You do not seem fine, Dempsey...What is the matter? Where has your mind taken you? To what depths of the earth have you dug your grave?”

 

;;

 

Tank’s dreams continued to be so vivid that on more than one occasion, he mistook his dream for reality and awoke shivering, trying to see past the blurred line between dreamscape and reality. The campsites the four stayed at were often drowning in snow, and it made it even harder to determine what was real and what was in his head. Often, he would be unable to distinguish the fictional world of snow and the real one; Tank was disoriented quite frequently. He was quick to deflect questions as he felt that the others’ concerns were trivial and not necessary. He carried on.

 

He was not going to claim to be adept at keeping his emotions in check. Often, he would succumb to the rushes of anger, or to the throes of depression. He seemed impervious to happiness nowadays, as in the struggle to overtake his waging war with his mind, Tank knew not what it felt like to smile. How long had it been since his teeth were shown for anything but a grimace as the blood of the undead splattered across his skin, his clothes? How long would he have to fight this battle, his mind berating him for every breath he took - _waste of air_   \- cursing him for every sip of water, every bite of food -  _could be used for someone who actually matters?_

  
  


Tank told himself he was hiding it as best he could, but he knew Edward had taken notice of his strange behavior from the beginning. His reluctance to ask what had happened to make Dempsey so put out, his being the only one to wake him during a dream confused him for the longest time. Since the dreams began, two weeks had come and go, and left Tank feeling like a hollow shell of the man he once was. In the short fortnight, Tank had changed. No longer did he spit out unintelligent curses and insults at the hordes of zombies, but focused only on his and his teammates’ survival with a dull sense of meaningless purpose that left the other three questioning. In these times, keeping quiet about his own thoughts were the best he could do to keep from losing his mind. Tank feared the day he lost what little sliver of sanity he and the others possessed. 

 

Sometime between the time Tank had awoken and the rounds had ended, the four set up camp in a small, snow-covered clearing of a forest, their haphazard trail of destruction - thanks to Takeo’s Katana excavating a path through the brambles - showing the direction from which they came. A fire was built for light and for warmth, and logs were pushed to give those who stayed on first watch - in case something should happen - a sense of comfort. More, at least, than they would have sitting on snow and damp grass. Edward and Tank did not volunteer for the first watch, but rather were the last ones awake and alert. While Takeo and Nikolai slept, Tank muttered something about the Russian’s snoring being enough to wake the dead, and it earned a smile from Richtofen, which quickly was replaced by the frown Tank had come to be acquainted with over the years of knowing the doctor. It meant nothing good. Yet, he was reminded, when was anything ever good?

 

“Dempsey,” the German spoke softly, barely heard over the popping and crackling of the fire. The American turned his groggy head towards the sound of his name. “What is it?”

 

“Lately… You seem so,” their eyes met, and Tank watched the fire through the glossiness on Edward’s eyes, daring Richtofen to blink first. “Distracted, I believe is the right word to say.” Finally, the other’s head turned back to watch the flames dance. “ You seem so out of it… and quite a bit more quiet. Is something bothering you, Dempsey?” It wasn’t unusual to hear the doctor speak long sentences with many pauses. For all his years, the man was not the best at translating German to English. When Tank first heard Richtofen speak, he thought the pauses were for dramatic effect, and a part of them were. He often trailed off; the man was spacey. He had many bad habits - they all did - and unnecessary pauses were one of them.

  
Finally, Tank answered,”No, Doc, I’m fine.” A lie, of course, but why should the German care? He had shown no signs of caring about Tank before. Or had he? The American didn’t want to think about that.

 

Eyeing the marine concernedly, a frown marred the lips of the nazi. He wanted Tank to tell the truth. Would he get such a privilege with all that he has done? Edward thought not. A melancholic truth settled over him - Dempsey did not trust him. Of course he would not be so willing as to spill his guts in front of Edward, and it was stupid of him to think so. He had not earned the American’s trust, and he doubted he ever would. That did not stop him from asking,”You do not seem fine, Dempsey...What is the matter? Where has your mind taken you? To what depths of the earth have you dug your grave?”

 

“I’m _fine_ , Richtofen. Stop buggin’ me with your philosophical bullshit. I’m fine.” Richtofen wondered if someone who really was fine would insist he was fine so sternly. He saw through Tank’s lies, but the American had said for him to leave him alone.

 

When had Edward ever really listened to such commands?

 

He pressed on, demanding vindication for the man’s strange behavior,”Dempsey, if you’re sick, you do realize I am a doctor, correct? 

is the matter, Dempsey?” Tank seemed to bristle and grow angrier - which Edward saw to be a good thing, as a fire in his eyes was much preferred to the dull, glazed look his baby blues had taken home in. Soon, with Edward’s pestering, the doctor feared the Marine’s wrath, impending as surely as the dark grey clouds of the distance. Finally, when Tank glared at Richtofen, and in the gaze, whatever words Edward was about to say lodged themselves in his throat, where a gasp replaced them. He wondered just how he had let this happen to him - falling in love with the enemy was not exactly protocol, nor part of the plan. “Shut the 

up, Doc. I’m  _fine_ , I feel fine, it’s fine, everything's  _fine_ !” Tank said, beginning in a low voice but gradually becoming louder - loud enough so that Nikolai shuffled in his sleep. “I… am not sure someone who truly is fine would say it so much, Dempsey. Why… don’t you just - get some sleep -”

“No!” Tank’s outburst - his outright denial of sleep - shocked Edward once more, into silence. “No, I’m not tired.” Edward would have protested, but saw the pleading look in Tank’s eyes replace his anger, and slumped towards the fire. Richtofen could see that something was wrong -  _very_ wrong - and it irked him to not know what.

 

Tank wanted nothing to do with the doctor’s questions. The logs they sat on - probably teeming with bacteria and rot - were as comfortable as sitting on spikes. His legs were numb and tingling. His jacket was slowly being riddled with holes and tears, his pants having been patched a thousand times over meant they were thin and not very good against the cold in the forest outside the castle. Why they had insisted on travelling outside of the relative safety of the castle was beyond Tank. At least in the castle the wind couldn’t get to them. Yet every time he looked at those stone walls, Tank’s mind went fuzzy and a lump got caught in his throat. Since the death of himself - _since you killed him_   \- Tank had been positively filled with guilt, and regret, and something else he couldn’t quite identify. Something that made his stomach twist and his eyes burn - _the knowledge that he could turn out to be such a person._

The idea that if he had continued on the path he was on, he would be entirely different. But which path  _was_ he on? What choices lead him to be so weak, so dependent on a machine to keep him alive? He had always considered himself to be strong; he would like to think that he was undefeatable, but immortality was a myth portrayed and given only to those greedy and naïve enough to wish for it. Tank would not want immortality, he realized. He didn’t think he could bare to watch his friends and family die while he continued to live. Survivor’s guilt, perhaps. It was the same  that drove him into shame every time he remembered what he had done - what he had become. What he would have become.

 

“I mean no disrespect, Dempsey,” Edward’s voice cut through Tank’s thoughts like a hot knife through butter. “I am simply very… perplexed, by your ways. What is it that you are thinking?” Tank’s expression dimmed, and he made to glare at the Doctor, but was caught in his gaze. His harsh words caught in his throat, and he muttered instead an unsteady,”I don’t know.” It surprised him, but it was honest, at least. He scowled at his own weakness - but who wouldn’t be captivated by such pretty green eyes? Tank reminded himself dimly that Nikolai and Takeo made plenty eye contact with Edward, but never got the same reaction. He was just tired, he convinced himself. Thought it was hard to tell a lie to himself.

 

“What do you mean, you don’t know? It is your own brain, Dempsey, should you not know what goes on inside it?” for Tank had no illness such as Edward’s own schizophrenia, and he was perfectly healthy, as far as Richtofen knew. But that was just it - Edward didn’t know. He wanted to venture into the American’s mind and see what thoughts plagued him. He wanted to know and understand him, to be able to tell what Tank was thinking. He wanted - no, he  _needed_ \- Tank to love him as he loved the American. It was tiring, pretending to hate him. Perhaps one day he might be able to drop his act, and hope that Tank would consider being kinder to him in return. Drop a shield, and the enemy might break through - but if they played a fair game, Tank would not dare to do anything but drop a shield of his own. But Tank Dempsey did not play fair. He played as a king, and not as the pawn Edward had once tried to play. In the struggles of an everlasting winter that seemed to surround Griffin Castle, Tank seemed always to fight the hardest, even as he had to annihilate his own future self. There was no denying that Dempsey was accurately nicknamed - he was truly the  _Tank._ He could live through anything and do anything.

 

Jarred from his thoughts at last by a soft hiccup, Edward seemed shocked to watch as Tank’s fists rubbed redness into his eyes, trying to hide his crying. Had he said something wrong? Voices began assaulting his ears viciously, trying to drown out his own thoughts. “Dempsey..?” he ventured, trying not to agitate the marine. “Dempsey, are you-” A sharp ‘no’ was barked at him. “Don’t ask me that. I’m not okay, Doc.” Confirming what he had been hesitating to tell himself - to the  _butcher_ , of all people! - was jarring and confusing and - 

“Oh, Dempsey..” Tank was practically shocked out of his mind. The worst thing to hear from Richtofen, in Tank’s mind, was pity. Because it meant he actually cared. That Edward wasn’t just using him, like some battle-worn pawn. That he wasn’t just being used for him to get what he wanted. The thoughts made more tears spill from his eyes, and he had to wipe them off quickly, lest they freeze on his face. “Please, don’t cry, it’s okay. Just… tell me what’s the matter…?” Edward was still cautious about it, as he didn’t want Tank’s short fuse to be ignited. “I might be able to help-”   
  
“I don’t need help!” Tank barked. “I’ve got this - all under contro-l,” for though he hiccuped while speaking and great pitiful angry tears leaked from his face, Tank’s eyes held a spark. Once again, Edward was startled into silence by the ethereal fierceness in the American’s eyes. To know that such emotion was directed at him was thrilling. “ _You_ know damned well what the matter is, don’t play innocent, Kraut,” Tank accused, and though he was not wrong, the anger struck the German’s heart with an icy grip colder than any blanket of snow. Edward swallowed his pride and watched the flames lick the air, an orangey glow cast upon their sleeping comrades, their own faces. In the flickering yellow, Edward wouldn’t deny his thoughts. He knew how he felt, so why deny how stunning the soldier looked, lit by the fire and the blown up remains of the moon’s reflectiveness?

 

“Yes, I am afraid I do know. You feel guilt,” he made no attempt to remedy his words, for by the grimace on Tank’s face, he knew they were true. “You feel _scared_ , Dempsey. You do not know what to expect. None of us do.” Edward watched as his words took effect on the American, and exhaled in relief when he saw that he was not provoking the man’s wrath. He prattled on,”We are all scared. We must live with our choices; they may be terrible things, but if anyone can handle this, I believe _you_ , my brave American, can face whatever demons oppose you,” seeming to deflate from his speech, Edward slouched, a stark contrast from his usual ramrod straight posture. Takeo and he seemed to possess wonderful posture, as Tank had noticed, while he and the Russian bear may as well have been on their knees begging for scoliosis. 

 

It was Tank’s turn to swallow his pride, and through still-watery eyes, Tank thanked the German with a sad smile. Maybe opening up to him wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps redemption wasn’t beyond him yet. Perhaps it may come in the form of green eyes and a warm heart.

 

The next morning, the crew packed up their belongings and stamped out the remaining embers of the fire. Tank had managed to sleep after being convinced by Edward that he would be alert enough to raise a flag should anything happen. Like usual, nothing did. Dempsey suspected Edward had managed to squeeze in a few hours’ sleep before daytime, as he was chirping and chattering about to anyone who would listen. That “anyone” must have been lost, for he was talking to himself for most of the morning, muttering things about god knows what.

 

Even in the woods they were not safe from zombies, and as they fought without the structure rounds gave them to tell where they were at in the day, it seemed to pass by quickly. Soon it was noon, judging by the sun’s position, and they were given a break for lunch, as it would seem. Nikolai and Tank shared a small can of beans, while Edward and Takeo divided theirs. All was well.

 

For the next two days, Tank rested easier than he had in quite awhile. Maybe it was the knowledge that someone believed in him, but he was without a dream for much of the nights. Perhaps due in part to sleeping so close to another human who he now knew cared for him, perhaps due to knowing that someone believed in him. Edward played no small part in his finally getting some sleep, as without him, Tank would still be on his short path to demise.

 

In spite of their best efforts, Tank’s dreamless sleep did not last forever. On the third day of what Tank expected to be another easy, peaceful sleep, he dreamt. He dreamt of a fire, this time, that began at his feet and ignited every tree he touched. If he did not move, perhaps he could still salvage what was left of the forest.

_This isn't right,_ Tank whimpered.  _I was getting better._

He was no stranger to feeling such hopelessness - like those of the woods. The fire blossomed light, and in the light he could see an infinite stretch of snow. Yet something was off.  _Footprints,_ he realized, jolted by the realization. The first sign of life other than the trees and the occasional brave blade of grass sticking its pitiful green up from beneath the snow. They seemed to symbolize something - hope, perhaps - but Tank could care less about symbolism, for in his desperate and weak attempts to struggle towards the footsteps in knee-high snow, Tank’s efforts were thwarted, and he was weakened by his struggles. Winter had him, and there was no escape from it, he realized, as he began to lose what little hope he had. The light of his fires ebbed away and gave way to the inky tendrils of his dream fading out, and reality fading in, taking with it his lingering optimism that his dreams could be figured out. Tank blinked himself awake and found green eyes staring down at him, the German’s arm extended as if he was about to wake the American, but had been beaten to it by Tank’s own subconscious. The marine said nothing, but furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What is it?” they asked, for he did not.    
  
“We are getting ready to leave, Dempsey. You did not wake with the rest of us. Get up, let’s get going,” Edward informed him, to which Tank grunted and began to unsteadily shift out of his sleeping bag. Nikolai and Takeo had not slept much, though it was enough to keep them going for the day. The sky was only just beginning to illuminate with the feathery touches of orange that signified the coming of dawn. Tank wanted a shower. They had not bathed since what seemed to be a forever and a half ago, though it couldn’t have been but only a month they were all splashing around in a half-frozen lake. That was a good memory. Tank could recall it clearly, and his chest swelled with a fleeting happiness at the memory.

_ “Shut up, Russian pig!” Takeo’s annoyed voice carried around the water, for though most of the surrounding area around Griffin Castle was as cold as the dead, perhaps colder, the four had come across a small body of water that was warmed by what seemed to be a hot spring underneath. Nikolai had just made a joke about how Takeo’s swimming was like a cat’s - clumsy and frail. “At least I do not doggy paddle, unlike Tank. Joke about him!” But Nikolai did not. He laughed at the comparison, and it was true that the two acted as if they were a pair of animals - cats and dogs, specifically. Nikolai continued to pester Takeo as a boy might pull the pigtails of the girl he liked, and everyone had a good laugh about it. The four men splashed each other with the cold water, and it was the most fun they had had in quite a long while. It was over much too soon, for the sun lay itself to rest on the horizon, and everything began to freeze over once more in the cold. Still, their raucous laughter kept on through the night, until all but two were left awake - the cat and the bear. _

This morning was like all other mornings - the rounds began, and they fought for their lives, and often their comrades’ lives. Revives were frequent in such times. The day carried on.   
  
Until it didn’t. Until a grenade’s pin was accidentally taken off, and whoever was unlucky enough to unpin the explosive barely had time enough to throw it before the four crew members, who had been meeting up for rendezvous, were blown back - for whoever had thrown it was foolish enough to throw it in front of him, and Tank was sure he had been the one to do it, because he was holding something round, and it wasn’t his gun. A bit of luck, however, was that this grenade did all the remaining zombies in - but this stroke of luck was just as misfortunate, for in such a close proximity to trees, the explosion’s sparks flew and caught on whatever dry bark could be found. A flame was ignited, and soon great flames were licking at the sky and devouring anything they could find. Tank was winded by the impact of being blown backwards, but he could hear Edward’s pained groaning, and hurriedly shuffled towards him, just as a flaming log fell where he had been not seconds before. He could not see where Nikolai and Takeo had gone, but he knew they were smart enough to book it and run. They would meet up with one another soon. How soon was soon? How long would Tank and Edward be alone together? That is, if they make it out alive. 

 

When the American got to him, he had passed out. Tank shook Edward, trying to rouse him. He wasn’t waking up. Tank yelled something indistinguishable from the sudden uproar of the wind and logs crashing to the forest floor. Chaos was everywhere. Panicked, Tank shoved his hands under Edward’s back to try and carry him. The smoke had begun to make his eyes burn and his lungs feel like they, too, were aflame. He was unable to lift Edward in his panicked state, so he opted for half-carrying, half-dragging the taller man. Tank grimaced with the effort. “C’mon, help me out a little, goddamn you!” he yelled, as trying to drag both of them to safety was proving to be about as difficult as things could get just then. Another tree fell into the snow and its wood burned high. As another large log began its descent onto the ground, Tank saw that this was his last opportunity to flee before the two were trapped. He gathered some burst of adrenaline and hiked Edward onto his shoulder, flopping limply against his back. Tank wondered just how hard he had hit his head before he blacked out, and on what. They barely passed beneath the hurdling log before it was on the ground and burning, too - but not quite fast enough. As they stumbled out of the forest, Tank noticed the sleeve of his jacket had been set afire, and he had to drop Richtofen unceremoniously onto the melting snow. He all but ripped the jacket off and threw it to the ground, stomping on the sleeve to put the fire out. Left in only his light grey shirt, the adrenaline that rushed through his veins and the infernos in the forest behind them. Ahead of them lay the castle, still quite a ways in the distance. He took a moment to catch his breath. The reality of the situation sunk in, and it felt like a weight was put in his chest, weighing him down with a sudden exhaustion. The momentum he had from running wore off, and he retched in a bush, the smoke having got to him. How long was he in there before he and Edward were out? What of Nikolai and Takeo? Were they safe? Would they meet again? So many questions, but no answers.

 

Finally, as he put his now-frozen jacket back on, shivering and huffing in the snow. He had leaned over, and wiped his puke-stained lips with the charred end of his sleeve, regretting it immediately. A groan from behind him had the American spinning on his heels, half-prepared to see a zombie, though the rounds were over and they were safe. Tank sighed, relieved to see not the undead by Edward staring balefully at him.

  
“What happened, Dempsey? My head… Where are we..?”  he asked. Tank remained silent, guilt eating at his stomach. “... Dempsey? Are you okay?”

_No,_ ”Yes, I’m fine. Did you hit your head?” he asked, concern etching lines into his face. “I… Someone’s grenade went off, and it lit up a tree. I don’t know where Tak and Nikolai are,” Tank looked too guilty to play off the incident on someone else. “I couldn’t leave you behind, so… here we are. Griffin Castle is that way.” The forest fire was beginning to die with the coming of a snowstorm, and Tank grimaced. “I don’t know where we are. We’re far from the rendezvous, that I know.” Edward’s face turned confused, and he asked if Tank had carried him. “Sort of. That’s probably why your head hurts. You’re not exactly easy to carry, Richtofen.” The German looked unabashed at the comment.   
  
Despite the sudden weight of the situation, Tank managed to find sleep that night. With sleep came another dream, this time of a flurry of snow. They had set up camp in the open, for if Takeo and Nikolai were to come looking, they figured it might be better to be in the open. They had set up a fire - “I think I’ve had enough of starting fires today,” Tank joked lamely - and were both resting beside it, too tired to keep watch.

 

_Footprints_. Footprints were the first thing Tank noticed when his dreamscape became clear. Right in front of him, as if he had made them and was looking back at them. Yet they were facing forwards - they were leading him somewhere. It proved to be an effort to move forward, and not a meter ahead of him, the shadows almost engulfed everything. When he stepped forward, he seemed to emanate a soft glow of his own - faint, but enough to see the footprints. He didn’t know for how long he travelled, but it felt like an eternity of lead-heavy legs and snow, broken only by him stopping to rest. Funny - even in his dreamland he was but a mortal man.

 

When the trail he followed began to lessen and disappear entirely, Tank paused. At a loss of where to go, Dempsey began to gnaw on his nails. He decided to keep moving, and went forward, though he didn’t think there would be too much of a difference. His icy blue eyes roamed what he could see of the snow-blanketed forest, and decided that he wanted this dream to be over. It was eerie - eerier than the others he had. The footsteps were unusual, and the perpetual darkness loomed over him like a cloud.

 

Tank eventually spotted light. It was blinding, it was like a star of its own, and the snow turned golden in the rays. Spurred by hope, Dempsey began to sprint towards it, convinced it was his safety. Getting close enough to make out the source, Tank gasped. The source of all the light - the  _star_ \- was none other than Edward Richtofen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the plot thickens.
> 
> im beginning to think this is just a way for me to portray my emotions. oh well.
> 
> leave a review maybe. kudos and comments are welcomed. appreciated. 
> 
> I'm on tumble @guillotin-e. guillotin-e.tumblr.com
> 
> have fun. see you in the next chapter. laters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "whatever it takes to keep you alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fvck im so so so sorry for keeping this so long. i swear it wasnt on purpose!! geez. and its so short..  
> oh well! its here, and it was sitting n my drafts for so long before i actually posted it.

He was clueless - what was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to find some damned medical supplies? In the castle, there was no such thing as _sterile_ , as _clean_. Tank’s wound was festering and teeming with infection.The burn wound around his arm was first degree at best - red and hot to the touch - but in parts, there were bubbling blisters. More than a few had been popped. Tank was stronger than most humans due to the 115 in his bloodstream, but that did not render him invulnerable to infection. His immune system was not invulnerable. Edward knew he would have to clean the wound and bandage the burns - basic med school taught him at least how to take care of a burn. That was something he could manage. What he could not manage was Tank’s ability to get under his skin. The marine was knocked out for fear of dealing with the pain - fear on Edward’s side, Tank seemed unperturbed by the thought of pain. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he had said, which made Edward’s blood boil. Had he no consideration for how others felt? How his survival was essential to setting things right? “Nothing I want you to handle.”

Tank was confused by the Doctor’s choice of words. He didn’t want Tank to handle pain? Tank didn’t know what he was supposed to get out of that sentence. He didn’t have time to think much on it before he was sniffing cloth, and his eyes were shut tight. Edward hoped he would not get a fist to the face at his actions, but regarding Tank’s strangely subdued nature as of late, his fears were lessened significantly.

When the burn was bandaged and dressed as well as he could manage, Edward sighed, and began to work on other visible wounds. A bite, fifteen scratches, and countless bruises. Edward had always gotten away with scrapes, bruises, and the occasional torn muscle. Never any bites. He hid behind the other three - stronger, braver men - under the pretense of being needed alive. Perhaps under the guise of cowardice he had managed to live; for he had not the bravery to face his own creations. In the beginning, when the corpses were still corpses and not just mangled bits of flesh clinging to muscle and further to bone, Edward was constantly feeling guilty for recognizing quite a good many of the faces he and the others put a bullet through. He learned to stop looking.

Edward used the time he had left with Tank unconscious wisely. He observed the man, taking good care to wipe his eyes over every visible bit of skin. Clad in but the scorched remains of his jacket - the sleeve had to be ripped off, as the burns on it made it useless, and underneath the jacket was only a grey t-shirt, stained with blood and dirt. When had he last bathed? Edward knew Takeo and himself tried as hard as possible to remain clean, but he doubted that Tank and Nikolai’s top priority was bathing. He could tell, now that he was closer, just how badly the man stunk. He smelled of charred flesh, sweat, and blood. But there was something else - something entirely Tank; perhaps it was an almost lavender-esque smell, but one would usually associate such a smell with someone - some _thing_ \- that was cleaned.

Before Tank woke up, Edward made up his mind. He would definitely get his two-bits in with Tank about being reckless, but after that they would travel, and hopefully find someplace with good, clean water. A creek, or a pond - something.

When blue eyes uncovered themselves from beneath ashen lids, Edward gnawed on his lip. He wanted to begin his tirade calmly, but it came out in one big rush. “Tank Dempsey, you are a selfish, impudent pile of dragon shit!” He did not mean this - at least, not all of it - but he chose to stick by his words and kept going,”You went and got yourself hurt, you did not tell me you were hurt - what if your wounds had gotten infected?! With how many blisters you have popped, I would not be surprised if you have an infection right now! What happens when you die, Tank?! What am I supposed to do? What will I tell the others? ‘He died because he was so _stupid_ that he didn’t think to tell the doctor that he was hurt, that he required medical assistance!’ Because that’s exactly what I’m going to tell them when I dump your _corpse_ in front of them! How am I going to deal with that? How am I going to live with myself if I don’t keep you alive?!”

Waking up was a difficult task enough without having the German doctor yelling at him. His voice was quivering - with either suppressed rage or tears - and Tank did not want to be in his own shoes then. His guts twisted, because each accusation and insult made him realize just how unwanted he was. He was wrong.

“ _I_ need you, Tank! I need you alive, I want you safe!” Perhaps realizing he had said too much, Edward’s eyes were wide. Though his mind seemed to have realized it, his mouth did not, and it kept talking. Kept blabbering, kept spilling his guts, his woes. Tank’s eyes widened as he took in what Edward had said - the heaviness to his voice implied just how much he meant it.

When Edward spoke again, he seemed more defeated. “You’re completely disregarding that people care about you. What happened to the stupid American who was so full of life? Where has he gone, Dempsey?”

“He never left,” Tank said, with no real conviction to his voice.   
“Just… Hiding. For awhile.”   
“Bring him back,” Edward pleaded. “Please, I want to know that you’re alive.”   
“I am alive.”   
“You’re not here.”   
“Where am I?”   
“A million miles away. Earth - Jupiter - Mars.”   
“All at once?”   
“All at once,” now a whisper.   
“Bring me back.”   
“Come back to me.”

Tank told Edward he was insane. Edward smiled sadly. “ _Come_ _back to me_.”

 

* * *

 

That night was when things were the worst. Tank dreamt of being stuck. He was melded to the snow in front of Edward’s golden light - dimmer now. It was fading, going away. Tank wanted to let him know that he wasn’t alone, that Tank was there, he would always be there to make him glow, shine like the sun. He could not move. Dimmer and dimmer the light faded, until it matched Tanks own, and Tank cried out a soft plead: “Come back to me.” His own voice resonated around him,”You’re insane - You’re insane - You’re insane.”

Tank did not wake up to see Edward’s face. All he saw was a blanket of snow and tattered cloth. He's afraid.

He turns over to see where Richtofen was, and sees him sleeping. It was well past the beginning of daylight. Edward should be up by now. What was wrong? “Richtofen,” Tank reached out to touch him - he was but a foot away on the ground. The fire was out, the treetops above him had not protected them enough from the snow that had fallen that night. “Richtofen, wake up.”

He did not.

Tank grew anxious. His hands shook as he gripped the German’s shoulder, turning him. Under the thin layer of cotton, Edward’s skin was ablaze. That was the second sign that something was wrong. “Richtofen?” Tank’s voice was more fragile. “Richtofen, this isn’t funny, please -” what? Please what? “Wake up!”

By that time, Tank was shaking. He had never been so nervous. Edward couldn’t die - how would he have died? What had happened? A few minutes of silence, and Edward’s eyes opened with all the haste of a dying slug. “What..?”

Tank cursed, let go of Edward - when had he gotten so close? - and sighed. Relief or anger? Both.

“Fuck - you had me worried. Why are you so pale? What’s wrong, Richtofen?”   
“I didn’t know you cared about me, Dempsey,” Edward joked meekly. Tank frowned. The smile on Edward’s face was not something Tank wanted to see. Not then. Any other time it would be welcomed, but not now - please, not now. “Of course I care, dumbass. Are you sick? Do you have any medicines?” Edward shook his head, and sat up. It seemed slow.

“Not for this. I’m long gone, Dempsey. You can’t cure this with anything we have here. Or anywhere else.” Tank realized what he was talking about, and felt sick as Edward began to roll up his sleeves. On his forearm, a nasty shade of green, dried blood, and horrible indentions. Teeth. Bile rose in his throat.

“You’ve been bit.”

Tank felt like his world was falling apart. “You’ve been bit…” Edward nodded, and the last thread came loose. “No - I’m still dreaming. This isn’t real - when?! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?! I could have stopped this!” Tank’s voice, tinged with anger, was fragile. Thin as paper. “Don’t you care if you live?! If people need you alive? If I need you alive, dammit! How do we cure it? There’s gotta be somethin’, there’s always somethin’!” Tank was shaking, he was on the verge of tears. He sniffled. Men don’t cry, he told himself. The shake of his head, almost imperceptible, made the tears come tumbling down. An avalanche. If men don’t cry, then what was he? “Edward - no, no-”

“Tank.”   
“No,” he swallowed, wiped his eyes. “Don’t say it-”   
“There’s only one way to stop it.”

This stopped Tank. He halted, sniffed, “What is it?” Edward inhaled, exhaled, frowned.

“You have to amputate. It’s the only way to stop the infection from spreading anymore. I’ve got another day or so.” He said it so casually. Again the feeling of bile in his throat arose, Tank’s breath caught. “No, I can’t - not that.”

Tank realized then, there, that he had been too caught up in saving Edward that he had not noticed just how much saving he needed. Deep breaths, Tank. He found himself gripping his hands to stop them from shaking. Somehow, this angered him. Further fueled by his incapability to handle the decision - possibly kill Edward, or have him turn into a rotting pile of flesh? - Tank’s anger burned higher and higher. He buried his face in his hands. “I can’t make this sort of decision, doc,” Tank rasped, trying not to face his shame. “And I am not asking you to, Dempsey. I want to live - and if the infection spreads past where it is, I will not. I implore you - take the chance that I might live with half a limb rather than let me become one of those. I will make this up to you in any way I can, but please,” upon realizing that his voice had become broken and on the brink of whiny - begging. Edward cleared his throat. He continued: “Please, American, let me live.”

“Richtofen, I can’t do this-”   
“You can’t let this kill me. Not this. Kill me if you have to - just not this.”   
“I can’t kill you either, Richtofen. Don’t make me do this. Please.”

If Edward had it in him, he would have quipped that he had not known the American had the word ‘please’ in his vocabulary. But he did not. Nor did he fight the angry tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

“What happened to those promises of killing me any chance you got? Where did they go? Where have you gone, American? It is so unlike you to make empty threats. If such promises cannot be fulfilled, why not just leave me? I am too weak to make you stay, much less fight you. Leave. That is something I know you can do, Dempsey,” he spat the name like venom. Edward hated the words that were being spoken, but again, driving Tank to anger seemed to be what brought him back to reality. Was that what it took? Edward could not stand to see the man he thought so highly of for being a shield, a solid rock for the other three to stand behind, crumble. It was injustice, it was cruelty - he had to fix him. With what remained of his life, he vowed on all he had to fix the pile of rubble that had become Tank Dempsey. If he couldn’t do anything to help himself, he would do his damndest to bring life back into his eyes.

“I can’t.”   
“Pardon?” Edward was so sure that Tank would leave, or at the very least leave Edward to assemble his thoughts. “I can’t leave you. I’ll do it. I have to. I can’t let you die - that would only be more blood on my hands. I can’t have yours stain my hands.” The outburst shocked both men,, but still Tank continued.

“You won’t die of infection. Not now - not ever. None of us will, we’re gonna make it out alive. _You're_ gonna make it out alive,” There was very little conviction in his voice. The American was unsure if what he had said would be true. Who knew if they would find Takeo and Nikolai in worse condition than they were? Who knew if they even would find the other two? Why haven’t they been looking? “What are you going to do then, Dempsey?”

He took a deep, steadying breath, and met Edward's gaze. He saw before him a  broken man. He knew Edward saw the same. Two broken men trying to piece each other back together - even if it meant sweeping their own pieces under the carpet.

“Whatever it takes to keep you alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wont promise a date for the next chapter.  
> or that it will take as long as this.  
> or that it wont.  
> what im saying is - i wont make any promises for the next chapter other than expect some gay.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on the tumbles  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/guillotin-e


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